


One Half of Me is Yours, The Other Half Yours

by daphnerunning, Galiko



Series: Oddballs in Love [2]
Category: Ensemble Stars! (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Sex, Ill-advised nude sending, M/M, implied inappropriate use of hot air balloons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-13
Updated: 2016-05-12
Packaged: 2018-06-08 02:54:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6836140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daphnerunning/pseuds/daphnerunning, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Galiko/pseuds/Galiko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Music may be the food of love, but Wataru is its fool, and Eichi the sun brave enough to risk becoming a glove on that hand. In which Eichi tries not to be a spoiled brat, Wataru can't calm his first-ever stage fright, Keito wishes he were somewhere else, Rei is unhelpfully modulating, and Shakespeare quotes are elegantly abused.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Part of the Oddballs in Love series, but stands alone (references to this fic appear in "Galatea").

Tenshouin Eichi has a plan.

Sort of.

Truth be told, his plans involving people are usually lacking…or so he’s realized recently. It’s troubling, to find out that he tends to tread upon others so thoroughly without understanding as much, and it’s something that Eichi has endeavored to work on—bit by bit, step by step, as much as he can put his mind to it without being frustrated at how much more slowly things go.

This all comes to a head in Hibiki Wataru, and setting eyes on him continuously makes Eichi frustrated and elated all at once. 

How many times has I like you been on the tip of his tongue? Annoyingly, they say things to one another that seem far more intimate: that Wataru makes tea far finer than even his servants back at home, that he’s an incredible inspiration, a dancer he can’t take his eyes off of, a singer that always makes him turn his head…because it’s not like he hands out compliments lightly, and surely, Wataru knows that… 

It comes to a head in the garden terrace, when they’re alone, surrounded by flowers—both from the garden, and from Wataru’s nebulous magic-space for them—and Eichi can’t stand it any longer, and the ‘plan’ comes to fruition. 

“You know,” he begins conversationally, gently plucking at the petals of a white rose (thornless, because Wataru actually listens to him, imagine!). “There are very few people I enjoy spending this much time with, Wataru.”

Wataru swirls the tea in his teacup, stirring the soft green vegetation inside to life, smiling into the hot liquid. Eichi likes his tea on the yonder side of boiling, and Wataru does so love to please, though the kettle often burns his hip in its hiding place. 

(One of its hiding places, at any rate. Someone might figure out his trick if he did it the same way every time, of course). 

“Yes, my beloved Emperor? Are you preparing me to become another angel in your heavenly garden?” He waves an elegant hand, indicating stone statues of cherubs around the terrace, wings a-flutter in silent stone. “I fear I’m a bit more lively than other such permanent decorations, you know.”

“Ahaha, you’re already an angel!” Eichi beams over to him. This is the kind of thing that’s so frustrating, this way they talk to one another. Ahh, perhaps it’s just flirting, a kind of foreplay, this intimacy. He can’t be reading it so wrong, can he? No, certainly not. “Mm, but emperors need things far more important than angels. I think you’ve reached such an exalted state long ago.”

“Mm, do they? Magicians, perhaps? I’ve been your jester forever hence, Majesty, but if you should require more of my talents, I may perchance require a target.” Wataru’s smile is lilting, but sharp as a kitten’s teeth nonetheless, pointed at the corners of his eyes. “Anything terribly useful to the ruling Emperor must needs require an opponent, is it not so? Though of course, your elegant left hand will suit any purpose, as gentle or strong as is required of your humble servant.” 

Too many curves in that sentence, perhaps, but at least Eichi still looks amused. That’s all Wataru ever hopes for--to avoid boredom in those weary, sparkling eyes.

Eichi heaves a sigh, flopping his chin down into one hand as he peers at Wataru through his bangs. “I’ll never tire of you as my jester, of course. I think there’s another role you’re far more suited to, however, if you’d hear it?” 

This is the part of the plan that has his heart thudding in his chest. Stop that, he scolds it, uninterested in feeling lightheaded when he’s about to get what he wants, finally. Eichi wets his lower lip with his tongue, and scoots his chair closer even if it means abandoning the neatly set garden table and the still half-finished tea, a frank statement of his distraction. “What does an emperor need more than anything to continue his reign, hmm?”

“An heir,” Wataru says, picking up on this train of thought as flawlessly as he does everything, tossing long hair back over one shoulder. “Which is, of course, why you’ve recruited--er, adopted, our Princess.”

Eichi’s lips purse. It’s hard to be put off by the conversation not entirely going in the direction he wants to, however, when Wataru’s hair is distracting and touchable—distractingly touchable. His fingers twitch with the urge to toy with it, maybe tug on that braid, just a little. “Tori aside,” he firmly continues, “I was thinking of the kind of companion an emperor needs. Wataru, I—“ 

His voice falters, and Eichi clears his throat. Confessing has never been his strong suite—perhaps it’s because he’s usually confessed to, and not the other way around, but it also seems painfully unnerving when it’s another man. “Look at me for a second, please.”

There’s something uncharacteristically uncertain in Eichi’s voice. That’s enough to snap Wataru’s head firmly out of the clouds, distracting him enough that he sets down his tea without using the motion to distract from the setup of his next magic trick. “Eichi? Is something wrong?” He bites back, stomps down the urge to ask, Are you feeling all right? He’s the strong left hand, not the bothersome right one.

Wataru is the only one Eichi doesn’t immediately chide for calling him Your Majesty, the Emperor, or any derivative of that nickname, but hearing his name on Wataru’s tongue makes him feel weak. If he were standing, his knees would wobble, and undoubtedly, Wataru would ask if he was feeling well, if he needed to go inside, like he has so many times in the past when he’s done something as harmless as say Eichi, so deliberately, so much like he’s pronouncing every stroke of kanji.

Does he know he’s doing that? God, he has to.

Eichi swallows hard. “Nothing’s wrong when you’re here,” he murmurs, and he squashes the urge to back out of his plan for the umpteenth time. Now or never, he tells himself, and it’s why he gives up on pretty words, and simply grabs a handful of Wataru’s shirt to haul him close.

He doesn’t give himself long enough to think about the unexpected weight behind that tug, or how warm that shirt feels underneath his fingers from where it’s been against Wataru’s skin, or how the scent of Wataru’s hair shifting makes his heart pound. Instead, Eichi lurches forward from his seat to cup Wataru’s face with his other hand, and kiss him like Eichi has meant to kiss him for weeks now, with hitching breath and then intense, thorough eagerness the moment Wataru’s lips (soft!! so soft) part from being taken off-guard.

Off-guard is a bit of an understatement.

For a long, long moment (that feels like longer--he’s spinning out of control, he’s whirling amid starlight, he’s soaring in the sky) Wataru can’t move. Usually he has little trouble processing reality, but this reality doesn’t feel like the world he knows, because in the world he knows...

Tenshouin Eichi is beloved, not lover.

Tenshouin Eichi is Emperor, not consort.

Tenshouin Eichi, in common Japanese high school terms, does not like-like him back. 

But here is Tenshouin Eichi, and more importantly, here are his lips, here is his tongue, and here is conclusive proof that this isn’t the world he remembers waking up in this morning. Wataru is used to being one step ahead of the world, a half-step ahead of his friends, and an eighth-step ahead of Eichi, but he feels he’s suddenly fumbled, stepped off-beat and is now drastically behind. That isn’t allowed--if something like this is going to happen--(it must happen, it will happen)--he has to be on his mark.

“I’m--” His voice squeaks, face turning bright, agonizing red. No! This is not what’s supposed to happen!

“Abientot!” he half-shrieks, and disappears in a puff of purple smoke.

For a long, agonizing moment, Eichi is left still in his chair, wide-eyed and with his hand outstretched, his mouth slack in shock.

Bad. This is bad. Wataru ran away from him, Wataru must hate him, he’s never been so wrong about someone in his entire life--

Eichi claps a shaking hand over his own mouth, the immediate, horrifying stress making his chest tighten. This isn’t any good at all. He’s ruined everything. If Wataru hates him, then fine is over, then they are over. 

This is the thought that loops and loops and loops in his mind for hours and hours into the evening, and the next day, the only class he makes it to is early, but enough to make it clear that Wataru isn’t there--which is enough to make him stress his way into the infirmary. 

Where he promptly passes out. And ends up in the hospital, as he deduces when his eyes crack open to white tiled ceilings and sickly-sweet smells. 

“I want to die,” he groans, twisting onto his side, pulling the terrible, flat hospital pillow over his face. That’s all he deserves, after all. 

“That’s all you deserve, after all.” 

Hasumi Keito pushes up the bridge of his glasses, light glinting off the lenses as he makes a bold stroke on a stack of papers, balanced precariously between his lap and the hospital bed. “They said your stress level was through the roof, but you didn’t bother calling anyone to help. As far as I’m concerned, they should have tossed you into the ocean instead of the hospital.”

“They should have. I want to die.” 

Eichi huffs into his pillow, stuffing his face further into it in an attempt to keep his eyes from stinging as he recalls Wataru’s face, how quickly he ran away, how he wasn’t at school the next day, proof of how much he messed up everything. “I’m the worst,” he miserably says. “I should have known better. I shouldn’t have—“

The more he thinks about it, the more aware he is of how his chest tightens up, and his lungs seize up into a hacking cough that makes him cling to his pillow.

Keito’s hands are precise and firm, grabbing for Eichi’s inhaler by the side of the bed, shaking it briskly and pressing it into Eichi’s hand. “Open up, breathe. You know this.” Hopefully, the vague annoyance in his tone is enough to mask his stress, the feeling he always gets when the hospital’s number pops up on his phone, as if the bottom has dropped out of his world. “I didn’t hear about any great catastrophe at the school. What did you do?”

Eichi’s very distracted hand flutters dismissively. He’s counted the days since he’s last had to do this, and while it’s not very many, it still means something. It’s with great begrudging that he actually uses his inhaler, and he sucks in deep, hiccuping breaths as he unhappily sinks down further into the bed.

“Not a catastrophe yet. It will be. For fine, for everything.” His voice sounds scratchy and gross, and he shuts his eyes, not interested in looking at Keito. “You’re just going to scold me if I tell you what happened.”

“I’ll scold you if you don’t,” Keito points out, settling back once Eichi starts breathing again, his own heart pounding wildly. “Might as well get it over with.”

Eichi falls silent for a long moment. Slowly, he rolls over onto his back again, letting the pillow flop onto the bed. “I confessed to Wataru.”

Keito’s voice falls silent. That’s how it is, then; as he’d thought, as he’d predicted, as he’d dreaded. “Well. I take it he took it badly.” There’s a vague ringing in his ears, and suddenly Eichi seems much farther away than just on the hospital bed.

“I kissed him, and he ran away.” The memory of that from barely a day ago (or so he assumes, how long has he even been in the hospital?) stings, no, aches, and Eichi’s lower lip trembles until he yanks the pillow over his face again. “I’ve ruined everything. I thought for sure—I knew he was…like that. And the way he always talked to me, I thought…”

The instinct, which Keito has spent many years learning to ignore, is to grab Eichi in a hug, pulling him close, assuring him that no one could ever hate him. That, he learned very young, will get him an awkward silence and a slow removal of his arms, along with a vaguely uncomfortable few days. Instead, he adjusts his glasses. “It was statistically unlikely that he would be receptive to your advances, but I doubt someone that foolish will hold it against you.” 

And then, because he can’t stop himself and his heart feels bruised, adds, “I thought you hated doing it with men.”

“He didn’t come to school. He hates me.” Eichi is very certain of this. He huddles up to his pillow again, slowly glowering over it at Keito. “Wataru is different. He’s not even really human, so I thought…I don’t know. It doesn’t matter, I want to die. I never confess to anyone, and this is what I get.”

“Confessing and being rejected isn’t the end of the world,” Keito informs him, with the utter authority of someone who has failed to do it so many times he almost forgets that was the original plan. “You know he never goes to school with any sort of regularity. Maybe he does this every time someone confesses.”

“No. He never misses practice. He hates me now, that’s why.”

Eichi’s eyes water, and he blinks hard, frowning harder. “Am I really that unbearable? I thought he actually…really liked me. I know you don’t care for him, but you’ve seen him around me. Was I really so wrong? Keito, please smother me to put me out of my misery.”

“I’ve half a mind to slap you silly,” Keito threatens, stacking papers to distract his fingers from tucking the hair behind Eichi’s perfect ears. “Don’t be absurd, of course he adores you. Doesn’t he always go on about my sun and stars, or the jewel of my life or whatever trash? If he’s being coy now, he’s simply behaving like a hard-to-get girl, and you should have none of it. He’s playing with your feelings, heartless bastard.” Perhaps it is finally time for Hibiki Wataru to die.

“He’s not heartless! I won’t hear anything bad about him, Wataru is…” Perfect. The only thing I’ve wanted outside of winning in a long, long time. “Maybe I shouldn’t have come on so strong, but the way we kept talking to one another, I didn’t know what else to do! It’s hard to get further when we’re already talking like I thought boyfriends did, so, here I am. If I die,” he wistfully says, “please take over as student council president. Be kind to Tori.”

“I absolutely refuse.” Keito shoves the papers roughly into his bag, narrowing his eyes at Eichi. “If you must die, have it be for some better reason that that obnoxious person, or I’ll make my first act as student council president to have Hibiki murdered and Himemiya expelled. So, live.”

“Keito.” Eichi stares up at him mournfully. “I know you don’t like him, but you can’t murder him, he’s too good for this world. And Tori is an angel, you have to be sweet to him. Be a just president, the kind I haven’t been enough.” His breath hiccups. “Maybe that’s why he rejected me. Ahh, I’ve been trying so hard, too…”

“This is getting absurd.” Keito folds his arms, leaning back in the chair, and asks the question he’s been dreading. “Are you in love with him?”

“…Yes.” It’s not resigned, like Eichi thought it would be. He feels like it should be, to be so into another man, but it’s Wataru, and he’s not just a man, is he? Instead, he’s just vaguely hesitant to say it, because Keito—well—“I’m not doing this to spite you.” 

“Spite me? Ha! As if anything involving Hibiki could have such an effect on me.” It has the effect of making him want to chain Eichi in his basement, actually, but he’s mastered those urges quite well, thank you, even under such tempting circumstances. 

“The look of resentment on your face says otherwise,” Eichi wearily points out. “Well, either way, please remember me fondly when I die, and not as the failure that can’t make Hibiki Wataru love me back.” 

That is a bit too much, and Keito stands, roughly fastening his bag and tucking it over one shoulder. “Die quickly,” he orders, then immediately relents, because he always does when it comes to Eichi. “I hate seeing you in here again. Get better and return to school, I don’t want to keep doing your paperwork for such a foolish reason. If you come back tomorrow I’ll...I’ll draw another page.” The tips of his ears flush. It’s been months since he’s touched that stupid book, which was all for Eichi’s enjoyment anyway.

“Eh?” It’s the first thing that’s made him perk up at all, though it’s half-hearted at best. “Keito…I know you’re sick of that doujinshi, you don’t have to keep drawing it.” No matter how he honestly does miss it. “You’ll already have too much on your plate when I die and leave the student council to you.”

“Oh, now’s a fine time for you to start worrying about my workload,” Keito snaps, hand on the door handle. “I’ll draw it for myself, then, and you won’t even be able to look at it, because you’ll be stuck here! Ha!”

“Text me a picture of it,” Eichi begs, stretching out a hand after him. “You can’t be so cruel.” 

“Last time I did that, it sent your heart rate up and I got in trouble with the nurses for sending you naughty things. Come see it at my house or not at all!” And with that lure dangled, Keito slams the door shut, stalking down the hallway.

“Heh, is he finally gone?” Wataru asks from the windowsill of Eichi’s eighth-floor hospital room.

The sound that escapes Eichi’s throat can only be described as a squawk, and a very undignified one at that. His face flushes, and he scrambles to sit upright instead of sprawl out in a helpless, useless heap, but it’s easier said than done when his limbs feel wobbly and weak, and his chest already starts to heave. “Wataru,” he hears himself wheeze, and while he’s got a hand on his inhaler, he vows not to use it, bad timing, terrible timing, this is just no good! “Why are you—d-don’t stand in the window like that, you could fall.” How long has he been listening? Oh, god, this could be even worse than Eichi thought.

The look on Wataru’s face would be unfamiliar to anyone who’s known him for less than a decade. Anyone who’d known him as a small child, however, would recognize it as chagrin. He hops inside the window, apparently without the aid of standing on anything, and looks around. “Amazing! State of the art technology, nothing but the best for the Emperor, eh?”

“If I’m supposed to be impressed, it’s lost on me after being here so much,” Eichi glumly mutters, huddling up underneath his blankets. Looking Wataru in the eye is a challenge that he’s not quite ready to face, and that makes his chest ache in a far different way. “Please don’t feel like you have to be here.” 

“I don’t feel I have to be anywhere. That’s the glory of me, you see. I’m needed nowhere, but desired everywhere.” Wataru beams, but his face is a bit more nervous than Eichi has ever seen it, though he’d never dream to fidget with nerves. “Sorry for being, ah, dreadfully incompetent the other day. It was unforgivable, I know.”

“It’s fine.” It’s too short of a response, too nervous, and Eichi swears he’s about to break out in hives. “I…it was a lot of pressure, I know, and I shouldn’t have been so…forward.” He swallows hard, and fiddles with his inhaler, the next statement taking every single last bit of his pride and crushing it underneath his own foot. “I know you aren’t interested, and I understand.” 

Wataru’s head snaps up at hearing something so drastically incorrect. He stares for a moment, then makes his careful way over to the bed, though he refrains from sitting where Keito had sat earlier. “Eichi...you’ve misunderstood. That isn’t...that isn’t the case. I--I just--that...that isn’t the case. Ah, alas for my formerly-silver tongue, tied in knots for the first time!”

“But—“ Eichi feels like his head is spinning from the whiplash of this entire ordeal, and he groans, flopping his head back down onto the bed. “You ran away. I thought you were disgusted. Wataru, I thought you hated me, and that you were going to quit fine, and honestly, you’d have every right to, I practically forced myself on you—“ Keito always tells him that he’s the worst, and Eichi believes it, for once.

Wataru is at his side in a moment, one long, slightly trembling finger pressed to Eichi’s lips. “It wasn’t how I imagined it,” he says softly, trying to make himself utterly clear, completely understood when he’s spent so long trying to put his thoughts in order, even skipping his first class of the day to rewrite the speech once more. Now, he’s thrown it out the window, heedless of those hard-to-find words. “I had always expected to be the one confessing, and you gently rejecting, Eichi.”

A startled laugh escapes him. “What? No, Wataru, you’re mad.” Compulsively, Eichi grabs for Wataru’s wrist, his grip shaky. “You’ve made it so difficult for me, you know,” he quietly says. “The way you always talk to me—it would have been impossible to confess in a normal way, because every word out of your mouth sounds like the most beautiful confession I’ve ever heard. This kind of thing is a failing of mine in the first place, but you’ve made it more of a failing.” 

“Eichi...” Wateru’s smile falters, and the blush on his face is entirely uncharacteristic. He turns Eichi’s hand over, caressing his fingers, his palm, before gently pressing his lips to the pulse beating under the skin. “Every word out of my mouth is a confession to you.”

 

“Then you shouldn’t have run away!” If he were standing, Eichi wagers he’d be stomping his foot, which is horrendous, but necessary. His pulse flutters underneath Wataru’s lips, and he gives up, grabbing Wataru’s face in his hands, feeling the heat of his flushed skin underneath his fingers. “Be my boyfriend,” he demands. “Every emperor needs an empress.” 

A startled dove frees itself from Wataru’s sleeve, flapping between the two for a moment before making a beeline for the window. Wataru hardly notices, enraptured with the sun itself asking him for the impossible. He leans in, letting his eyes slide blissfully closed. “Until your radiance burns me where I stand, mon cherie.”

As there are always birds, Eichi decides to not comment on this one, and instead, let himself feel an intense wave of relief to the fullest. “I thought I had ruined everything,” he bemoans, throwing his arms around Wataru’s neck instead, the ability to simply do so leaving him feeling weaker still. “Us, fine, everything. Climb into bed with me, Keito belongs next to it, but not you.”

Wataru starts to give in to the tug, then pauses, shuffling to the window first and releasing at least a dozen more doves and one confused crane before returning to the bed, climbing in. “You want him to watch, mm?”

“Ah. No. I just meant he’s like a dog that isn’t allowed to sleep on the bed, and has to stay on the floor instead.”

So many birds. At least now there are fewer, and more Wataru, and goodness, there’s nothing better than being able to immediately nestle up to him and all that warmth. He probably feels warmer and cuddlier and just better in general because Eichi was so certain he would have to do without (and therefore, die). “If I kiss you again, are you going to run away again?” Now he’s got a hold on Wataru’s hair at least.

Wataru laughs, then loops an arm around Eichi’s neck, leaning in close. “We should certainly check to make sure,” he murmurs, and leans in for a kiss. He hadn’t had much thought to observe the last one, but his skill at mimicry is strong enough that he’s fairly certain to hold his own on this front, turning Eichi’s skills back against him the way he would in some sort of fight.

“I’ll die if you do,” Eichi threatens, but better than threats is a second chance to make sure Wataru is his.

This time, Wataru already has his arms around him, and is already leaning in to be kissed, and Eichi has little more to do than lurch closer and seal their lips together again as his fingers twist up into Wataru’s hair. His mouth is still so soft and so warm that Eichi exhales a content, rumbling noise, which turns to a breathless laugh when he can feel the heat of Wataru’s face. “I never thought the great Hibiki Wataru would blush because he’s being kissed.”

Wataru jerks away in an instant, clapping his hands to his cheeks in mortification. “Don’t look! How dreadful! Me, blushing? It cannot be!”

“You blushed before, and you’re blushing now,” Eichi says, reeling him back in by a tug on his hair. “Get back here. How thoroughly and often do I need to kiss you before you’re used to it, hmm?” 

That’s right--kissing without blushing must be just another skill he needs to master, and there is no skill he cannot master. “Practice certainly makes perfect,” he muses, ten adds, of course, “and so do I,” before leaning in to make good on the boast.

Eichi gleefully lurches up to steal another kiss—and another, on Wataru’s neck this time, where he can feel the wild flutter of his pulse. “You don’t have to stop blushing. You just have to stop trying to escape, or I’ll go mad.” 

“Eichi, what happened to the thrill of the chase?” Wataru gasps, half-writhing when Eichi’s lips are so accurate, sending flurries of excitement through him until he’s certainly the color of a roasted tomato. “A-ah, aren’t you going a little fast?”

“It’s not thrilling when you disappear in a puff of smoke and leave me behind,” Eichi complains, shifting and slinging a leg over Wataru’s hips to crawl on top of him and refuse to let him escape this time. He pauses, peering down at Wataru, and a delightful realization comes over him. “I was your first kiss, wasn’t I?”

Without him willing it, Wataru’s hands come up to press at his burning cheeks again, furious that he cannot simply command them to stop flushing. “Of course, Your Majesty...for whom else would I be saving such a prize?”

“Heeeh, I’m honored. But, shocked,” Eichi cheerfully adds, scooting forward to grasp at Wataru’s hands and pull them from his face. “Someone as lovely as you, not being kissed thoroughly and often? Horrific. Well,” he sighs, leaning in, “time to fix that.” 

Kissing Wataru again like he kissed him that first time is such a treat now that he’s fairly certain Wataru won’t dart out the window or maybe escape through the ceiling. Kissing him deeply enough to suck on his tongue isn’t moving too fast, is it? No, it can’t be, they have to play catch-up, after all.

Eichi, for lack of a better phrase, is frighteningly high-level.

Wataru sort of loves the feeling of being in over his head. It’s been quite a while since he has been to this degree, but it’s also been quite a while since he’s felt so firmly, inescapably tethered to the earth around him. That feeling is enough to make him grab and pull, tugging Eichi down, parting his lips and sucking on Eichi’s tongue, because apparently this is something he’s going to have to get very good at very quickly if he wants to stay sane. 

(And he thinks for the first time in quite a while that he does.)

Not out the window, not out through the ceiling—ah, thankfully he’s right, and Wataru is grabbing him back and kissing him back and yes, good, those grabbing hands of Wataru’s are just as strong as Eichi thought (knew) they would be. 

Eichi exhales a low, pleased rumble against Wataru’s mouth, his own pulse starting to thunder in his ears, just a little. This is a good kind of light-headed, though, especially when Wataru pulls him down, and Eichi makes a point of wriggling in his lap, his fingers clutching at Wataru’s hair. “You really are my prize, aren’t you?” he breathes, his eyes lidded as he tilts his head away just to suck in a shaky breath, and then get his mouth on Wataru’s neck again, because he can’t help it, he can’t. 

Wataru lets out a breathy, shuddering groan, long legs splaying and twisting in the hospital sheets, grabbing at Eichi’s soft pajamas, biting his lip. “I’m whatever you want me to be. A-ah, but Eichi...isn’t this a little--are you well enough--”

“You hush,” Eichi grouses, another kiss planted just underneath Wataru’s jawline, and this one lingers, drawing out into a soft suck. “It’s your fault I’m in the hospital this time, so I’m going to do as I like.” It really is delightful that Wataru is so…well…there’s no better word than virginal, is there? “Besides, I just want to spoil you a little,” he murmurs, pausing to suck on another spot on Wataru’s neck. “You make cute noises.”

Eichi’s kisses are distracting, overwhelming--but Wataru has spent a lifetime learning to be distracting and overwhelming himself. 

With a surge of effort, he flips them over, running his hands through Eichi’s soft hair, cupping his face to compel focus (usually during scenes it’s so the eyes are on him, not on whatever fool he’s roped into being a supporting character), drawing in every bit of attention before delving his tongue into Eichi’s mouth, tasting him thoroughly, pulling back to nibble on his lips, taking what he’s learned and metamorphosing it into hopefully the best kiss Eichi has ever had.

Knowing that Wataru is a fast learner and experiencing it are two different things, and Eichi has to admit, both are very nice, but the actual experience takes his breath away. 

Eichi sags down into the bed with a groan, draping his arms around Wataru’s shoulders and tangling himself in all of that glorious hair as he lets himself be kissed. His toes curl, and he lurches up to catch Wataru’s lower lip with his teeth, tugging with a soft, pleased sigh. “If I die right now, it would be worth it,” he sighs, trailing his fingers down the back of Wataru’s neck…and idly rubbing his thumb over one of the little bruises he already left, whoops.

Eichi’s thumb pressing there stings, and Watarutakes the opportunity for revenge, tugging just a bit at Eichi’s hair before settling down, resting his head on Eichi’s shoulder and pulling him close. “When can I break you out of here? Presuming I haven’t killed my Emperor with my kisses.”

“That would be all right,” Eichi lightly says, smiling as he strokes his fingers through Wataru’s hair like one might pet a very treasured animal. “Unfortunately, I think they want to keep me one more day for observation, but I don’t like that very much. You should take me out through the window.”

“Never shall I be responsible for hastening your demise, my fearless Royal Majesty.” Wataru nuzzles against him, eminently content with the situation. “Get well, then I shall be, as you said, the prize that awaits your triumphant return.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How did one of the legendary Oddballs, at war with the student council, become one of fine's finest?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (flashback to Wataru and Eichi's second year, approximately a month before the fall of Valkyrie)

Hibiki Wataru is a menace, or so Keito repeatedly tells him, but that doesn’t stop Eichi from taking a front row center seat to one of his infamous one-man live shows.

Today, Wataru is performing _The Tempest_ in its entirety, all by his lonesome, and it’s…well. Eichi will admit, he isn’t terribly well-versed on Shakespeare’s works. He doesn’t particularly consider it a failing until now, because he’s _very sure_ that he’s missing something integral about the entire plot—unimportant, however, when Wataru is as impressive as Eichi has heard.

There are a number of things said about this particular Oddball. Eichi finds most of them to be true after watching this performance, and being who he is—the Student Council President, the lead of fine, _Tenshouin Eichi_ —slinking his way backstage after the performance and waiting by Wataru’s dressing room isn’t at all beyond him.

For a long moment after exiting the stage, Wataru glows. The applause tastes like sustenance, the one thing that continues to delight him when the gold of this school has long since turned to dross, the sweet praises he used to drink in now turned to so much bitter meal on his tongue.

After that long first burst, the excitement fades. _The Tempest_ isn’t an easy show, even for him, even with the audience crowing for more, even without any subpar actors to drag him down. There had been a boy in the audience who had almost been interesting--but he had flitted away, blushing and starstruck like so many others. Perhaps, if he shows up to the Theater Club at recruitment, it’ll be possible to make a proper foil of him.

Probably not. No one has been able to stand up to being his reflection for quite some time. He spares a thought for those friends, shining too-bright, destined either to burn out or go supernova, and vaguely wonders which of those he’s doing.

There is someone in front of his dressing room.

That’s enough to make him clap the figurative mask back on his face in a heartbeat. He’d felt tired, unguarded, and that simply cannot be allowed to happen to the great Hibiki Wataru in public, not _ever_. Especially when the person in question is...

“Student Council President Tenshouin Eichi,” he drawls, producing a beglittered mask from his sleeve, setting it idly over his eyes. “Or in this case, another adoring fan? Either that, or come to ban my performances as unacceptable in an idol school?” It’s hard to tell with the student council these days, and it isn’t something he’d put beyond any of them, power-hungry bastards they are. Still, he doesn’t despise them as so many of his peers have started to...

“Tonight, another adoring fan,” Eichi sweetly greets, straightening from where he leans against the door. Honestly, Wataru couldn’t have taken longer, or so it felt like. Now isn’t the time to feel exhausted, but instead, invigorated at the sight of Hibiki Wataru all over again—or so he tells his obnoxiously feeble existence, ugh. “It would be a shame to ban such a splendid performance. Ah, I’ll admit, I’m not so well-versed in _The Tempest_ as I’d like to be, but watching you makes me want to brush up on my Shakespeare in general.”

“Amazing!☆ Truly, another tremendous and inspired compliment from our esteemed Emperor,” Wataru says gallantly, sweeping a deep bow despite the way his cooling nerves twinge at the movement. “Care to step inside my dressing room? I fear I have no furniture worthy of your esteemed presence, but perhaps a simple stool will suffice for such a brief conversation as I estimate this to be...?”

“Oh, I hope it isn’t brief,” Eichi says with a flutter of one hand. “But sitting down sound lovely. Surely, you’re tired after such a performance as well—or are you just an infinite ball of energy after all? I’ve heard rumors of your inability to stay idle.”

“I would never dream of referring to my energy and endurance as something merely human, you know, but I would hardly call them infinite--just as, so I would say, to the cheetah, the stamina of the wolf is surely infinite, so such an expression is accurate here.” Wataru beams, and sweeps a hand out over his stool, then pulls forth a single white lily from thin air, draping it across Eichi’s lap before lounging back on a chair that mere seconds ago a mere mortal would have sworn was part of the wall. “Did you come to inquire after such things, President?” _Or are you here to make trouble?_

Even watching Wataru here makes it seem like it’s a constant theatre performance. Eichi hardly minds that, and he quietly admits to himself that it’s less the act of sitting that makes him immediately feel better, and more the fact that Wataru is a _constant_ source of entertainment. “Mm, I didn’t come to inquire about rumors, truly.” He gently runs his fingers along the petals of the lily, bemused at its sudden existence. “Shall I cut directly to the point? I want you.”

“Of course.” Wataru flicks his fingers, and an appointment book is suddenly in his hand. Another flick, and a live bird appears, then transforms into a single long-feathered quill, already dripping with ink. “Size of audience? I’ll do private parties of no fewer than ten without a surcharge.”

“Ah, you’ve misunderstood. That’s my failing, I’ll acknowledge that.” Eichi leans forward, fingers curled around the stem of the lily as he gently taps it against his knee. “I want you to join fine."

Wataru lets out a trilling laugh, hearing it echo somehow even in such a confined space. “Very funny, Your Majesty.”

“Is it?” Eichi smiles, his head tilting. “I was unaware. Here, I’ll make it worth your while. You can still continue this solo theatre act to your heart’s content, and I’ll even offer you funding from fine’s pockets. If that doesn’t suit, I’ll make sure that you have solo opportunities within fine itself. I just want you as a part of our ensemble immediately.”

“Ah, so it’s a business proposition. For business, we need tea.” Would it be anything other than a wave of his hand? How absurd. The tea is piping hot, and he serves it that way, one cup for Eichi and one for himself. “Though I have no interest in such a thing, just so you are aware.”

Eichi blinks down at the tea, then back to Wataru, and then at the tea again. Tentatively, he picks the cup up, savoring the slow scald of steam against his face. “I wonder why. I’ve had the honor of hearing your demo tapes, you have an incredible voice.” 

“Yes,” Wataru agrees, taking a sip of his tea. “How did you--ahh, of course, the Emperor has connections, does he not? A fabulous trick, your Majesty!” It isn’t as if he’s embarrassed about his demos, of course, but the fact remains that he hadn’t sent a single one out under his true name. If Eichi has heard them, and can recognize the multiple ways in which he changes his own voice, he might be more than the foolish rich boy Shu had hinted.

“So then it shouldn’t be a surprise that I want you on fine. Admittedly, I can find a voice any day, but you aren’t just a voice.” Eichi pauses to take a sip of his tea, no matter how hot it still is, and has to stop, staring down into his cup after he swallows. “ _You_ made this tea?” 

“I rarely attempt to take credit for the works of others,” Wataru murmurs, taking another sip, raising an eyebrow just a touch. “Though, as is the case with the great William the Glover’s Son, there is no greater flattery than imitation--as long as the imitation is greater than the flattery.”

Perhaps uncouthly, Eichi has to stifle a whimper as he slinks back, wrapping both hands around his teacup before taking another intensely grateful sip. “You _must_ join fine. I won’t take no for an answer, Wataru.” 

Wataru stares for a long, long moment. It’s long enough to memorize far more than Eichi thinks he’s giving away, from his mannerisms to his vocal tics, but most people don’t like to hear things like that about themselves. He sets down his teacup, watching the porcelain cool, and folds his hands. “Well. If I have no choice, then I suppose I shall join fine, and magnificently improve the sound. You must make me only one guarantee, and I promise, it is not a monetary one.”

It was so easy? Really? Ahh, maybe this ‘asking nicely’ thing does work! Though he did have to tell Wataru that ‘no’ wasn’t an option...but still! Eichi beams at Wataru, only pausing to take another sip of his _perfect_ tea. “Yes, yes, whatever you want. Make your demands, go on.” 

“Ask me to leave when you tire of me. Immediately.”

“Eh?” Eichi blinks. “Oh. That won’t happen, I assure you. I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of watching you.” 

“A fine fancy, and an appreciated compliment,” Wataru says smoothly, and the teacups vanish into thin air once more. “But without your promise, I will not join fine, not now and not ever, on pain of leaving this school. I’d far rather be loved as a solo act than hated as a member of an ensemble.” His eyes flash briefly in the low light. “Or did you not consider that there is a reason I don’t belong to a unit?”

Eichi heaves a sigh, shifting and crossing is legs neatly at the ankle. “If I offer a promise to release you if I am ever tired of you, then you’ll have to understand that I’ll never let you go.” He smiles, shrugging lightly. “I’ve heard stories about how you’re impossible to work with, about how you’re hard to handle, rude, argumentative, that you can’t share a stage--but those are just stories, after all, and I’d prefer to see for myself if you’re really so difficult. I almost hope you are. It sounds fun.” 

“Oh, I’m entertaining,” Wataru says, amused. “I’m magnificent, AMAZING, indefatigable, and a consummate performer....though I’ve been told on multiple occasions that I’m never fun.” Would any of his friends even appreciate such a thing? He seems to remember having fun long ago--a particular sleepover with Rei and Shu rings a bell, as well as a trip to the ocean with Kanata and...that boy. “Then until such a time as the arrangement no longer satisfies, you may consider me at your disposal, Your Majesty. You’ve purchased yourself a fool.”

“A fool? No, I think a proper court jester.” Eichi smiles, hopping to his feet. “Practice starts at 8:30 tomorrow morning. Will you bring tea again? You’ve made the best tea I’ve ever had; maybe I’ll convince you to join the tea club as well.” 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (another flashback--this one about a month after the fall of Valkyrie)

Pretty words are worthy in their own right, but Wataru never puts much stock in the promises of others these days. The evenings are long after practice, at least in his own mind, now that they’re not full of solo practice for his one-man shows. The practices, though...

The practices are far more fun, for lack of a better word, than he’d been accustomed to. It’s a new feeling; he’s used to feeling annoyed with the people trying to keep up with him. Somehow, even if no one in fine is on his level in terms of dancing, singing, or performing, they still learn fast enough to make him feel like he’s not wasting his time, and the determination to improve no matter how strict his methods are.

Every day, he expects Eichi to pat him on the shoulder, eyes pitying, vaguely guilty, and tell him, _I think that’s enough, Wataru-kun. Don’t you? But I’ll enjoy watching your next play!_

Every day, Eichi surprises him, even if Wataru releases live birds in the middle of his speech (which he does), even if Wataru commandeers the practice without meaning to (which he does), even if Wataru rewrites the script a hundred times to his own specifications (which he does), even if Wataru scolds the other members to the point they chafe and throw fits (which happened today). Every day, Eichi laughs at his tricks, even the ones he’s seen before, and Wataru is more confused. 

Until he’s floating in his hot air balloon outside of the student council (reasons), and overhears Hasumi Keito, making what he probably thinks is a joke, deep in a conversation about temples and hospitals.

“Out of line? Is that what you think of me? I’d hate to fall victim to the same fate as Valkyrie under your guidance, Eichi. Ah, wait, that’s impossible--we’re acoustic, after all.”

So, that’s how it is. Eichi laughs, and Wataru understands a little more about Tenshouin Eichi, the Emperor of Yumenosaki Academy.

Surprisingly, the thought doesn’t bother him as much as he’d thought it would. Eichi is a ruthless tyrant after all, of course. Perhaps he really will be able to tolerate some...eccentricity, as long as the talent continues to suffice. 

So practice later finds Wataru humming to himself, sketching outfits on a blank pad, absentmindedly composing their next tune as well.

“You’re such an overachiever, Wataru. I love it.” 

Eichi would love to be the one that comes early, stays late, but there are limitations on most days to what he can do, unfortunately. It’s incredibly interesting to find someone that seems as _dedicated_ as he is, however, and finding that in Wataru is both a surprise and a delight. 

He leans over Wataru from behind, his fingers laced behind his back, peering over his shoulder. Like this, he can smell Wataru’s hair as well, and that’s...well. It’s an indulgence. “Ahh, Tori would look so cute in that. I’m sorry about him, by the way; he’s still so little, please forgive his brattiness.” 

Wataru flaps a hand elegantly, as he purports to do everything. “He is easily forgiven, though I know not whether that’s in his best interest in the long run. Brattiness doesn’t bother me. Ah, if it did, I’d lose so much sleep over my darling Tomoya-kun...” He looks wistful for a moment, pen still moving through rapid strokes even without his full attention. 

“Tomoya-kun? Ah, is that your theatre club crush? A cute one, though he seems...mm...” Right, if you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything at all. Eichi leans closer still, and lets his hands slide onto Wataru’s shoulders for balance as he eyeballs his work. “Can there _not_ be feathers? They tend to irritate my sinuses.” 

_There could be no feathers, but it would be a different design,_ Wataru bites back. No, that won’t do. He flips a page, then starts sketching again, this time omitting the feathers and...hmm... “Furs, perhaps? Not real, but...no, that’s too close to Akatsuki. Sequins!” Ah, sequins are far better. 

“Sequins,” Eichi agrees with a nod, idly moving strands of Wataru’s hair out of the way to drum his fingers gently against his shoulders. “I don’t want to resemble Akatsuki in _any_ way, that would be terrible. Ah, you’re tense. Does it bother you when I edit?” Those ‘horror stories’ about working with Wataru have yet to come true, but it wouldn’t be the first time that he’s watched Wataru twitch and grit his teeth and clearly stomp down on half a dozen arguments. For whatever reason, Wataru doesn’t argue with him, though. 

“I dislike not being perfect the first time,” Wataru admits freely with a self-deprecating little laugh. “And so far, your suggestions have resulted in improvements, which I am attempting not to resent.”

“It isn’t that it isn’t perfect, though. Just, mm. It’s a matter of preference, and I’m perhaps more opinionated than even you.” Eichi beams, giving Wataru’s shoulders a squeeze, leaning more of his weight against his back. “You fit into fine so _well_ , I don’t know what all those rumors were talking about. Is it because I’m fun, and not insufferable like, say, Itsuki Shu?” 

Ah. Well, there it is. Wataru sketches serenely, giving Eichi a neutral smile in return. “If I were, would you cut the power during my performance?” One has to know for certain before forming an opinion, of course, and it’ll be a cold day in hell before he takes Hasumi Keito’s word for something.

Eichi pauses, which he does _not_ see as a sign of weakness because Wataru clearly already _knows._ How, exactly? There are any number of ways--overhearing conversations, speaking to Itsuki directly...

“No,” he simply answers, hooking his chin over Wataru’s shoulder. “Because I think you have more integrity than Valkyrie ever could, and there wouldn’t be anything prerecorded for me to flip the switch on.” 

“Mm,” Wataru agrees, because when all has been said and done...he _would_ never go on stage with a pre-recorded voice. “Need I watch out for trip wires, then? I don’t know where your line is, I confess.”

“Ha! Even if I had trip wires in my arsenal, you’d probably fall into a somersault,” Eichi says, and then heaves a sigh, shrugging. “I don’t like cheaters,” he bluntly adds. “I don’t like Itsuki Shu either, but that’s moot point. As the student council president, making a statement out of his cheating was something that needed to be done. Do you think he would have listened to me if I had tried to talk to him about it like a sane person?” 

“I suppose we’ll never know,” Wataru says mildly, because it’s the truth, though it’s also the truth that Shu probably wouldn’t have listened to any criticism. “I don’t like rigged votes, either, Eichi.” First name basis? He tends to spring into such things.

Eichi’s eyes roll before he can stop himself, and he straightens, giving Wataru’s shoulder a pat as he steps back. “Keito’s methods aren’t always my own. He needed to make a statement while I was in the hospital.” 

“He is a dog that moves as he’s bidden, I’ve observed,” Wataru remarks, then stretches, ripping off the costume design and wadding it up, sinking a neat three-pointer into the trash can across the room. “I am not afraid of losing, Your Royal Majesty. There are many reasons I never joined Shu in Valkyrie. Utter devotion to victory at all costs was one of them.”

Eichi watches him, arms folded across his chest as he considers, carefully, what exactly to say to that. _Point taken_ is one of them, but that’s not satisfactory enough, not enough of a point, in fact, for someone like Wataru, and he sighs, shifting back onto his heels. “I didn’t ask you to join fine to make you succumb to methods that you find unsavory,” he finally says. “I have little need for losses, but--well. My reputation could use some improving. Chide me as you would Tori on his dancing, if you think I’m being unreasonable.” 

“I think a group with me in it won’t need to resort to such measures,” Wataru says firmly. He stands, swallows for a moment, then commits himself to being himself, no matter the consequences, and sinks into a low kneeling bow, hand on his heart. “And I have pledged myself to your cause, Your Royal Majesty. I swear to you that as long as you want me to be part of fine, we will never be out-performed or need to use unsavory methods, as you put it.”

“You look lovely like that, you know.” Whoops, that just came right out, didn’t it? Eichi has to laugh at himself, stifling the sound behind one hand as he glances away to hopefully stifle any other errantly gross comments he might make. “Ahh, when you say that, Wataru, I _do_ believe it. That’s why I asked you to join us. Come now, though, stand up before I become too interested in you staying like that. And call me ‘Eichi’ again, I think it sounds nice, coming from you.” 

“As long as you understand that I am equally at your command, body and soul, as Eichi as I am as Your Royal Highness, ahaha.” Wataru straightens with a flourish that would have been far too grand on anyone else, ending with a fully-finished sketch of the outfit he’d been working on, complete with four versions for all of fine. “What do you think? The vaunted Emperor’s opinion, if you please.”

“To think I thought you were annoyed enough with me to just toss your work away,” Eichi sighs, taking the sketches from him with care. He’s relieved enough to sag where he stands a little, how embarrassing. “You’re always such a surprise. Ah, but I like all of them! You even took care to emphasize how cute Tori is, good, good. Charm points are so important, no one else understands that quite as well as you do.” 

“Mimicry is nothing without observation,” Wataru says, drawing up a chair behind Eichi, easing him down into it. “And I’d prefer to disappear forever than to be called a second-rate mimic. So fear not, darling Eichi. Your beloved jester is always watching you.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (back to present time)

Two weeks later, and Eichi is fairly certain there’s either something still unappealing about himself that Wataru isn’t telling him about, or...he’s not being obvious enough.

Once he’s out of the hospital, his quest to duplicate the night that he had Wataru in his bed (a hospital bed, but still) continues. More than anything, it takes effort to kiss him after neatly cornering him for tea or in the student council meeting room or even in one of their practice rooms. Honestly, locked doors shouldn’t be the issue. He’s always decently discreet enough, but wrestling Wataru by the hair to make him hold still long enough for a kiss (or five) proves difficult.

...Which is why dance practice is usually the best option.

Wataru is usually sweaty and distracted by the end of it, which is a great look on him. Tori flees the second that he can, with Yuzuru close behind, uninterested in being chided by Wataru yet again. Eichi always lingers, no matter if it usually results in another two hours of work that leaves him passed out and exhausted into the next day, but it’s worth it for a chance to get what he wants.

Also, being wobbly-legged and tired gives him every reason to sort of flop between Wataru’s legs with a smile as Wataru rests in a corner, looking painfully alluring with his hair up and a shirt that conceals little of his physique. Thank you, god.

“I’m going to die like this, Wataru~” Eichi sing-songs, planting a hand against the wall next to Wataru’s head. His knees still shake. That’s cool. He’s got this. “Seems like a good way to go, honestly.”

Wataru beams up at Eichi, leaning up to finger his tie. “You’re not allowed to die when I’ve yet to make proper use of you,” he teases, tugging Eichi down to sit astride his lap. “Your Majesty still needs to rule over his subjects with the iron sceptre of old, now returned to its most glorious golden hue! Ahaha, soon fine will channel the sun once more, and you will ascend to your destined throne.”

I am now in your lap, how are you not more affected by this? Eichi crossly thinks, but he neatly settles there, reaching to grab for Wataru’s impressive ponytail. “With your help, that’s certainly going to be true,” he sighs, wrapping a few strands of hair around his fingers. “I took my time rewatching the videos of fine’s performances without me, though, and the three of you are impressive as a unit on your own. Sometimes I wonder whose ensemble this truly is, now that you’ve put such a stamp on it.”

“A stamp in your honor,” Wataru assures him gallantly, leaning into the touch the way Mercutio does into his preening, though his own feathers aren’t quite such fascinating plumage. “So that none of the school neglects your might in your absence. Ah, we should begin vocal training for the afternoon, don’t you think? If music be the food of love, play on, and all that!”

“We should,” Eichi agrees, though he doesn’t move a centimeter, and instead firmly entrenches his fingers into Wataru’s hair all the more. “But you know what else sounds delightfully fun?”

Wataru smiles, stretching out his legs to settle Eichi more comfortably on top of them. “Throwing a hundred-yen coin into the middle of Ra*bits practice and watching them dive for it?”

“You’re terrible, and I love that, but right now, I’m going to ignore that in favor of this.” Eichi smiles, dropping one hand to Wataru’s chest to push his back flush to the wall before leaning in, kissing him hard, and very insistently keeping a hand in his ponytail to keep him from trying to disappear in another poof of smoke.

For a second, Wataru very seriously considers detatching his ponytail (always an option!) and vanishing, but decides to stay in place to see where this goes. Besides, Eichi’s mouth is hot and warm and silken against his, and he leans up, tasting his tongue, nibbling on his lips, arms coming up to hold Eichi close to his chest. “That is quite nice,” he murmurs in agreement, eyes dancing.

“So slack off with me,” Eichi breathes, eyes bright as he tugs on Wataru’s ponytail before kissing him again, his teeth dragging against that full, soft lower lip. Wataru’s chest is very warm and very impressive. Curling his fingers against it to better feel that muscle makes him shiver. “Or are you so interested in being dedicated to me that you don’t have any time for me?”

Eichi’s hands are...certainly moving, certainly on his chest, which feels rather nice, but they’re in the practice room, of all places, and Eichi has a somewhat predatory gleam in his eye, every inch the hungry lion. “Ah...are you saying I’ve been neglecting Your Majesty?” he asks, raising an eyebrow even as he melts into Eichi’s touch. “Perhaps we should resume this at a more appropriate location, such as my hot air balloon--”

One perfectly-dyed golden eyebrow ticks upward. “Wataru.”

“Yes, my liege?”

“While having sex with you in your hot air balloon sounds delightful, it doesn’t seem stable enough for a first time occasion. You see,” Eichi continues, casually shoving Wataru’s shirt up, because being able to drag his fingers across that perfectly toned stomach is a treat, “you’re usually distracted enough, and I’ve had enough of that.”

The sound that emerges from Wataru’s throat can most accurately be called a ‘meep,’ something that by all rights would only be at home on someone like Tomoya-kun, which of course Wataru finds intolerable. “S-so blunt,” he stammers, feeling his face start to flush as his hands come up to cover his cheeks. “If those were my implications, I hastily regret my misspeaking--”

“You’re acting like a cat in heat” Keito has told him, crossly, irritably, half a dozen times now, and Eichi thinks that’s fairly incorrect. He hopes he looks like he wants to eat Wataru alive, which is far more appropriate when Wataru is blushing and adorably nervous--but not running away, which is very important. “Too blunt?” Eichi sweetly asks, his hand sliding further south, tracing the indentation of Wataru’s hip bones. “I would be inspired to be more elegant in my speech about such things, but it seems you regularly miss my point. Wataru, I’ve told you before--I want you.”

Wataru scrambles backwards slightly, not wanting to dislodge Eichi, but slightly nervous to remain in the same place. “Ah, aha, you meant in the--in such a way, that you--” That silver tongue would come in handy just now, wouldn’t it? A pity it seems to have vacated the premises. “We’re at school!”

Eichi blinks at him placidly, and prowls after Wataru across the floor without missing a beat. “Does that bother you so much? I can lock the door, I suppose, but I sort of like the thrill of it.”

“We’ve only just--isn’t this moving very quickly?” Wataru asks, semi-frantically as his back hits the wall. Eichi is advancing, and he draws up his knees in front of him. “I’m not prepared!”

“When you have a limited time to live, nothing moves more slowly than waiting~” Eichi sing-songs, planting his hands upon Wataru’s knees to better pry them apart--or at least, he tries, but Wataru is very strong, damn him! “Wa-ta-ru, let me take care of you a little!”

“Never!”

And then he’s gone, in a puff of purple smoke, a few feathers fluttering to the ground in his wake.

Eichi has never been more frustrated--except maybe at fine’s singular loss.

“Keito,” he snaps, folded up into a moody, unhappy ball at a student council ‘meeting’ that no one is attending except for himself and his childhood friend (thankfully!!). “Am I so undesirable?”

“Be quiet and do your work, Eichi.” Keito’s pen dashes across the page at the speed of sound. “You’re not ill, you’re just pouting. I won’t cover for you this time.”

“Ahhh, even you won’t answer me,” Eichi bemoans, slouching further into his chair and kicking at his desk. “That means I really am undesirable, unappealing, hideous, dreadful--”

“Of course you are. Who would want someone who would rather lay on the ground and scream instead of doing paperwork, like some sort of...baby? Straighten up and act like a human being, you know you’re attractive.”

“Apparently I’m not! Wataru doesn’t seem to think so, he keeps rejecting my advances even though I think I’ve been very alluring and adorable, depending on the day.”

“Then stop entertaining his foolishness.” Keito shoots him a glare. “I thought you decided you didn’t like sex with men.” That absolutely violates the rule about not talking about It, but Eichi’s the one that brought it up.

“Unimportant. I was hoping you’d have some advice.” Eichi heaves a sigh, plopping his head down into his hands. “What was it I did that made you so interested in not refusing me?”

Keito tugs down the cuffs of his sleeves, annoyed. “If you don’t want to be refused, make advances on someone that wants to have sex with you. You understood this once, when you accosted me.”

“But I think he does want to have sex with me, he’s just so shy!” Eichi complains, frowning. “You were shy once, but not about that, of all things. Ahh, girls are so much easier, but Wataru is so lovely...have you seen his chest bare?”

Keito glares at him, then carefully caps his pen. “You know I haven’t. Nor am I interested in doing so. What exactly do you hope to accomplish via this conversation, apart from annoying me?”

“I’m venting and you’re my best friend, aren’t you supposed to humor me?” Eichi sighs, flopping backwards in his chair to stare up at the ceiling. “If only everyone could be as easy as you are, Keito.”

“You are the worst.”

“But you still want to have sex with me. Ah, that must be the problem, maybe Wataru still thinks I’m terrible? I thought I’ve been very...careful lately, personally.”

Keito throws a wadded-up scrap of paper at Eichi, which misses by about thirty centimeters, though they’re only a meter apart. “Please die.”

“...Why is your aim so bad? Aren’t you an archer?” Eichi asks, honestly amazed. “I’ll stop if you give me advice. Do you think I should just corner him without warning, or is that a consent issue?”

“I wasn’t focusing! Ugh. Just--text him a time and place and tell him you’re bringing condoms. If he doesn’t show up, he honestly doesn’t want to have sex with you. Is that plain enough?” Keito demands. “There’s your advice.”

“Hmmm. That might be a little uncouth, but I’ll try it as a last resort.” Eichi hauls himself to his feet, dusting himself off as if he hasn’t been sitting primly on a chair. “Well. Maybe I’ll omit the condoms part, that will just make him outright not show up, he’s so shy. This combination of adorable and frustrating will kill me yet. Ah, well, I can trust you to finish the rest of the paperwork today, right, Keito?”

“I hate it when you get like this. Don’t...” Keito grabs Eichi’s wrist, avoiding his eyes. “Don’t expend your energy on him when you could be resting. If you have a relapse because of this, I’ll hunt him down and you’ll see my true aim.”

Eichi blinks, then gives Keito’s hand a light pat as he tugs his wrist away. “It’s energy I would be expending on practice activities, anyway,” he dismissively says. “You’re worried for nothing, Keito. Unless you’re actually thinking of shooting him, in which I’ll be furious. I know you don’t like him, but I do, so can you try to be amicable? Please?”

“I absolutely refuse.” Even so, Keito stands to give Eichi’s shoulder a squeeze. It probably lasts a little too long, but Eichi doesn’t usually complain. “If fine crumbles from the internal strife, Akatsuki will be here to pick up the slack for the student council.”

“Fine isn’t going to crumble, don’t be ridiculous,” Eichi says, giving Keito’s hand another pat before gently dislodging it by stepping back. “I trust in Akatsuki’s skills, of course, but make sure to maintain your position and not overstep. Wataru and I will resolve this shortly. Now,” he hums, fishing out his phone with a flutter of a wave, “thank you for doing my paperwork!”

He flees, and fires off a text.

 

**To: Wataru**

**From: Tenshouin Eichi**

**Subject: Tea?**

**We should meet in the garden. I’ll die without your tea this evening~**

 

Sneaky, perhaps, but necessary when one’s boyfriend-apparent likes to run and disappear into smoke. How dare Wataru make him resort to such tactics?

When Eichi arrives, Wataru is already mid-tea party in the garden, sending off several texts at the speed of light, looking up and stashing his phone the second Eichi approaches. The tea is all set out for two, with a veritable carpet of rose petals around the table, and a gauzy enclosure surrounding the table. He stands, and sweeps a low, elegant bow, hair tumbling around his shoulders and mask. “Welcome, beloved Emperor. Please allow me to serve you.” Your advice better not make this worse, he thinks urgently to his absent friends and their quite disparate advice via text.

As per usual, Wataru is always...more than he expects. Typically, when Eichi has requested ‘let’s have tea in the garden!’ with anyone else, it’s just that--tea, in a garden, nothing particularly out of the ordinary. This feels--”Like I’ve stepped into a movie,” he laughs, parting the gauze to step inside. “Wataru, you’re spoiling me as usual. All I asked for was tea, you know.”

“Consider yourself beautifully treated, rather than spoiled,” Wataru insists gracefully, drawing out a cushion for Eichi next to the low table. “I fear I behaved in a dreadfully uncouth manner during our last meeting, and rather shamed my nickname of Masked Pervert.”

Eichi barely represses a roll of his eyes at that, and settles down gracefully, pleased at this return of attention if nothing else. “I’ll admit, I _did_ expect you to be a bit more…aggressive, in your advances,” he allows. “I _was_ under the impression that you had _designs_ instead of a tendency to flee instantly when I crawl between your legs.” Maybe his bluntness is the problem.

Wataru feels his cheeks starting to heat, and orders his blood to _cooperate_ \--what good is being a consummate performer if he doesn’t even have full control of his bodily functions? Life is a disaster. He settles onto his own cushion, drawing the curtains around them with a wave of his hand. “But of course. Merely a surprising blip in the grand scheme of our illustrious love story, my darling.”

“Surprising is good,” Eichi hedges, scooting to the side of his own cushion to make sure that he’s as close to Wataru as he can be without outright touching him. “But you _know_ , life is short. It wounds me when you run from me, Wataru. Am I really so frightening?” 

“I could never be frightened of you,” Wataru says gallantly, attempting to ignore the elephant in the garden. The tea is steaming already, soft white billows from the rim of the cup that Wataru hopes makes it look like he hadn’t been carrying a teapot on his hip for an hour at boiling temperature. The best magic trick is in making it look effortless, after all.

So why is he struggling so hard with that now? 

“Perhaps the time and the stars and the spirit of love were simply not in concordance. But now, let us rejoice that all has aligned!”

“Well then,” Eichi cheerfully says, scooting closer still, and planting a hand directly upon Wataru’s thigh. He squeezes. _Firmly._ Maybe if he’s _firm_ about this, Wataru won’t disappear…though he’s certain he was firm before. “If you aren’t frightened and everything has aligned, then what a better way to spend the evening together expressing our love?” 

Wataru’s laugh is sudden, high, and nervous, much to his everlasting dismay. His thighs draw together, and he gulps his tea, ignoring the fact that it is incredibly close to boiling temperature. “O-of course! Ah, I’ll n-need time to prepare--”

Eichi’s eyes narrow. “ _Wataru._ ” Ignoring his own tea in favor of this should say enough about how he feels, _really._ “Didn’t you prepare all of this? Isn’t that the point, that we’re already both prepared? Honestly,” he exasperatedly says, “if you don’t want a blowjob, just _say_ so—“

“No, I do!” Wataru squeaks out, then gives up and vanishes in a puff of panicked blue smoke.


	5. Chapter 5

Most people would not consider Sakuma Rei a source of trusted advice about important life events. Wataru is not one of those people--at least, not after his attempts to ask his other friends have failed, because there are only so many times he can hear an earnest suggestion of ‘ _call him nii-chan, just try it!_ ’ before he starts laughing awkwardly.

But desperate times call for desperate measures, and he infiltrates Undead, knocking politely on the surface of that silken black coffin. “Rei? It’s Wataru. Koga isn’t here.”

Slowly, and with great effort, the lid to the coffin slides open, producing a very sleep-mussed, yawning Sakuma Rei—which is about the same as always, if one is to be completely honest with themselves. He blinks bleary-eyed at Wataru, and flops over the edge of his coffin. “You always know the best way to wake me up,” he says, still sounding all the world like he wants to go right back to sleep. “What can I do for you? Your blood is positively _thrumming,_ I can hear it.”

Wataru hops up into the coffin, perching on the small fridge which he assumes is full of chilly ham. He doesn’t bother trying to arrange himself artfully; Rei knows him as well as anyone, and has never minded it when he drops the mask. “God forbid, I think I have stage fright.”

“No. Impossible.”

“Which is what I thought! How could a being such as I, the very incarnation of Terpsichore, have landed in such an abominable state?” Wataru is aghast at himself, hands fluttering in distress. “But how am I to perform what I’ve never practiced? This isn’t _improv_ , this is life!”

“Slow down and explain it to me properly,” Rei wearily says, flapping a hand of his own as he props himself up with a pillow wrapped in matte black silk. “What are you trying to perform, hmm? Did someone tell you that your chest wasn’t stuffed enough in your last one-man show?”

“No, they wouldn’t dare, I used real breasts. But it’s...” Wataru fidgets, toying with the ends of his hair, watching them grow bluer as he plays with them. “I’ve never had sex before. What if I do it wrong? I can’t stand to be hated.”

Rei’s attention suddenly is more focused, and his head snaps up as he stares at Wataru intently. “Sex? This is about _sex_?” He tries not to sound too shocked, but he can’t entirely help it. “Can this be? You’ve _finally_ found a suitable mate?”

“Suitable, perfect, charming, elegant, riveting, and utterly surpassing,” Wataru says, half-miserable, half-dreamy. “And far more experienced than your humble servant. I’d rather die a virgin than disappoint, I swear it.”

“Oh, that won’t do. That _can’t_ do, you _have_ to go through with it.” Rei’s eyes gleam as he lurches forward, planting a hand on Wataru’s knee. “It’s _sex_ , Wataru. You don’t have stage fright, you have sex fright, which is utterly horrific and you _have_ to get over it.”

“I...don’t think there is such a thing as sex fright, Rei. I think it’s stage fright.”

“No, it’s sex fright, get it right.” Rei claps him on the knee. “Listen to me. Don’t you _want_ to touch his cock? Or is it weird? I know there’s nothing wrong with yours, but humans can be a little—“

“No, no, I want to. I desperately want to. And I don’t think it’s weird, but even if it were, I’m sure I wouldn’t mind too much.” Wataru flops over, thunking his head against Rei’s forehead. “Every time he touches me like this, I get nervous and run away. How do I stop? You’re my only hope, everyone else was useless.”

“There, there. Perhaps let’s determine _why_ you are so nervous,” Rei hums, giving Wataru’s head a sympathetic pat now. “I’m sure anyone else you asked—ah. You didn’t ask Shu or Kanata, did you. Big mistakes.”

“Kanata assumed someone would be laying eggs. Shu assumed someone would be wearing rather voluminous skirts. Both were unhelpful when I corrected them.”

“That sounds about right. Well, no matter. I am sympathetic to your cause. You said it wasn’t like improv at all, but isn’t it, though?” Rei leers at him, eyes narrow. “Do you know how many times even _I_ have been a less than perfect lover? Most humans are very tolerant of this, especially if they find you attractive.”

“But I find the concept unacceptable.” Being a disappointment, being less than perfect when Eichi is so _good_ to him, being somehow _less_ than he might in Eichi’s eyes--it’s absolutely intolerable, and makes him want to hide in Rei’s coffin for the rest of eternity. “I’m certain the second time will be perfect, but how am I to manage the first? With improv, I can at least draw on past situations. I’ve never...” he gestures, mute and frustrated. “Any of it.”

“And yet he has. Hmm. I suppose I understand how this could be daunting for someone like you.” Rei tilts his head, contemplating. “You know, context might make this easier. Who is it, anyway? Someone I know?”

Wataru shoots him a warning look. “Don’t be terrible. If you weren’t terrible I’d have told you immediately, but you’re terrible.”

“You’re being so cruel to a friend that’s trying to help. What, it isn’t like it’s _Tenshouin_ or something equally repellant.”

“Of course it’s Tenshouin, Rei. Who else would it be?”

“I was hoping against hope. My God, why is your taste so bad?”

“My taste is flawless. Your hatred is unfounded.” Wataru pauses, then admits, “Mostly. But Rei, I adore him.”

“Fine, fine, I’m just going to ignore this for now,” Rei grouses, slouching back again with his arms folded over his chest. It makes him unwell to think about it for too long, anyway. “I take it he’s very aggressive, as he is with everything. Let him tell you what he wants, he can be your director, of sorts, which I’m sure he would _love_.”

“Of course,” Wataru allows, because that’s certainly been the case so far. “But what if what he directs isn’t the way I’ve rehearsed, ah, privately? I’m sure it will be delightful, but...the...the, the hormones, I suppose? Feelings? They _surge_ when he touches me, and I get so flustered I can’t think properly.”

“Do you get flustered when he changes up your singing, dancing, or costuming choices?” Rei dryly asks, plopping his chin down into one hand as he considers what his afterlife has become, essentially _helping_ Tenshouin Eichi. “It’s the same thing. If you want to think of it as a performance, then consider how many times you’ve worked through a set for the first time with him. Does that give you stage fright?”

“Not at all. I--curse it all, I’ve never experienced this before, and now I’ve got the dual task of working through the stage fright _and_ performing. How do normal humans _do_ theater?” It’s baffling. Perhaps he’ll go a little easier on Tomoya after this, though likely he will not. “I never mind when he edits. His ideas are usually good.”

“Then,” Rei drawls, “his ideas of sex is probably pretty good, too. That demon wants you, so you might as well make yet another deal with him. Sell your soul a little more, we all know you want to.”

Wataru huffs, shoulders slumping in a way he’d never let anyone else see. “But what about when the nerves start? I’ll...blush. I’ll sweat. It’s awful. Is this what anxiety feels like? I should have been kinder to Shu.”

“Knowing his terrible temperament, he probably thinks it’s adorable. Wataru,” Rei exasperatedly says, his eyes lidding tiredly, “just touch his penis already. Do it once and you won’t get sick of it, and you’ll realize that you’re so _beyond_ humans anyway that even your mess-ups will be considered glorious.”

It all _sounds_ true. Wataru still can’t shake the feeling that it’s going to happen again, that he’s going to get so close and freeze up once more, but at least this sounds like a decent plan of attack. Maybe once he gets over that hurdle, it’ll all fall away like the rest of everything does when he performs, and he can luxuriate in showing off once more. “You’re right. Can I run my outfit for the evening by you later? Is your fax machine working?”

“I stole Kaoru-kun’s phone,” Rei proudly says, hoisting up the device from the recesses of black satins, “though I’m still dreadfully terrible with it, I’ll make it work. If all else fails, Wataru, you can _always_ call him ‘nii-chan.’ Guaranteed results.”

“I’m not going to do that, Rei,” Wataru says tiredly, climbing out of the coffin and off of the ham fridge.

“Try it~!”

“Stop modulating the key of your voice at me, I’m going!”

He does go, but finds himself avoiding class again, sailing around the school in his hot air balloon for a little more perspective. It doesn’t help, and soon enough, he heads home, in as close to a sulk as he ever gets. Before he can lose his nerve, he sends off a text.

 

**To: Emperor**

**Tonight? Allow me to apologize once more; Sending my home address so I’ll have nowhere to run! :)**

 

Is that too much? It’s not something that usually concerns Wataru, but _everything_ about this situation concerns him. Even his clothing, which doesn’t usually leave much of an impact on him, concerns him enough that he texts Rei (Kaoru’s phone) a shot of his outfit.

 

**To: Rei(?)**

**Good enough?**

 

 _Several_ minutes later—

 

**To: Hibiki Wataru**

**Unbutton your shirt more.**

 

The shirt comes unbuttoned to the waist, artfully parted, and another selfie follows.

 

**To: Rei(?)**

**Better?**

 

**To: Hibiki Wataru**

**Yes. But all the way unbuttoned now. And take off your pants.**

 

One nude selfie (and a peace sign) later, Wataru puts the clothes back on, though he leaves the shirt a bit unbuttoned. He’d been right about that.

 

**To: Rei(?)**

**All good? I went back to step 2. ^w^ he should be here soon, wish me the grandest broken leg!**

 

**To: Hibiki Wataru**

**Very good. The demon will be pleased. If he isn’t, you should come over. <3**

 

“Wataru? Wataru, your housekeeper sent me up here…”

Eichi, rather weary of this nonsense—and the enormous winding staircase in Wataru’s house—hesitates outside of the room he’s been directed to, and pokes his head inside of the cracked door. “Oh, good, you’re in here,” he grumpily (and breathlessly) says. “ _Honestly,_ that’s too many stairs.”

“Ah!” Wataru drops his phone, startled by Eichi’s appearance, and it lands picture-up on the plush carpet of his bedroom. He laughs nervously, looking around at the eccentric assortment of supplies and esoterism that is his room, Mercutio chirruping in the corner, and gestures wildly. “Ah, welcome! My apologies, you didn’t text...I’d have carried you.” Already, the nerves have started. Eichi is unbearably gorgeous at this close range, and Wataru’s skin feels warm, butterflies raging in his stomach as if someone had kicked their hibernating tree.

“I was afraid texting would scare you off,” Eichi points out with a sort of weary good humor, sidling his way further into the room and looking around it with something akin to awe. He’s not entirely _surprised_ that this is what Wataru’s room looks like, but it’s still a sight to behold in at least three dozen colors, a thousand messes, and one very cheerful bird. “You have a lovely home. Ah, here—“ He bends, scooping up Wataru’s dropped phone.

…And then, pauses, his eyebrows arching high. “Were you going to send that to me to entice me further?” he wryly asks, passing the phone over after having a good look at the last picture on the screen. “Honestly, Wataru…”

Wataru laughs, turning the screen off and stashing the phone on a table. “Ah...no, that was for Rei. He was helping me with my outfit for tonight. Amazing, don’t you think?”

In an instant, Eichi’s face clouds, and for once, he isn’t certain if it’s because of merely hearing Sakuma Rei’s name, or because—“Sending nude pictures of yourself to him hardly sounds like helping with your outfit.”

“He _also_ gives good advice about clothing,” Wataru assures him, before catching sight of his face and cocking his head to the side. “Eichi? Is something wrong?”

It’s one thing to tell himself not to pitch a fit about this, but it’s easier said than done when he’s _so_ frustrated (has been for days! _weeks!_ ), and now, Eichi is more annoyed than he ever thought he could be with Hibiki Wataru. He can put up with the running away, the disappearing into smoke, the reassurances that _this time, I’ve got it!_ when Wataru demonstrably _does not have it_ —but now, this feels like an intimate, personal breach of an unspoken agreement, and Eichi is not happy.

That’s an understatement, actually. He’s furious. The fact that Wataru doesn’t even seem to realize why he’s furious makes him _more_ furious, and Eichi grinds his teeth, folding his arms tightly across his chest. “No,” he huffs, abruptly turning away to present Wataru with little more than his back. “ _Obviously_ not.”

“Eh?” Wataru’s head tilts so far his ear nearly touches his shoulder. “Ah...Eichi? Do...is the picture bad?” Impossible, yes, but what on earth could be wrong apart from an unflattering picture? Rei hadn’t covered what to do if Eichi simply huffed at him (though it’s unbearably cute). “Ah! Wait! I understand! Did Rei not give you his phone number? It’s not _his_ , he’s borrowing--”

“This is the most peculiar and obnoxious blind spot you could have and I hope you know how unacceptable that is!” Eichi whirls back around, his hands balled into fists at his sides. “Wataru, you idiot, I don’t want Sakuma Rei’s phone number! How could you send him pictures like that when _we_ are together?”

“Ah!” That’s not what he was expecting, admittedly, and Wataru quickly mentally recalculates. “Ah...I see! I’m--right, of course, I’ll not...I shan’t...”

He drops his hands, mouth slightly parted as he gazes at Eichi with something like bursting fondness. “I’ve never seen you in full Brat Mode before. Forgive me if I’m slightly awestruck.”

“Shut up! Stop looking at me like that, you’re mocking me!” Belatedly, Eichi realizes that he has absolutely stomped his foot (like Tori, like precious, sweet Tori, like he’s been trying to _unlearn_ ), and he scowls, not quite ready to apologize for snapping yet when he’s still furious. So, instead, he huffs again, folding his arms across his chest as he looks away. “If you’re so comfortable showing yourself to Sakuma like that, then maybe I should just leave you two to it.”

Sometimes, when Wataru takes the stage, he doesn’t remember it afterwards. Everything blends together in a fugue of light, sound, applause, and the rush of elation that comes with entertaining.

Some of that fugue takes him over now, and he moves quickly, knowing his steps are correct, snatching Eichi off his feet and tossing him a few meters onto the bed, hardly feeling the strain of effort. He loosens his next button, mouth dry, and says softly, “Tonight is about us.”

It’s certainly not very emperor-like of him to squeak, but Eichi does, anyway. Wataru’s bed is delightfully soft and a little bouncy, and when he scrambles to sit upright, just the sight of Wataru makes his breath catch up in his throat. “Prove it,” Eichi says without thinking, and reaches out a hand with an insistent grabbing motion. “Come _here._ ”

In the moment, nothing sounds more acceptable. Wataru shucks his shirt, a few feathers and stray teabags flying out of the sleeves, and climbs onto the bed, kneeling over Eichi and cupping that lovely face in his hands, leaning down to press a heated kiss to those lips. For some reason, Eichi losing his temper, acting like such a _brat_ , is enough to make him laugh through his fright, to make him want the _man_ instead of the ideal. “Let me,” he urges, arranging himself between Eichi’s parted thighs.

Oh, this is better, so much better, and Eichi could nearly cry from relief. “I’ve been _begging_ you to,” he groans, grabbing for Wataru’s hair and tangling his fingers so deeply into it that he musses and dislodges the bun on the side of his head. “You’re mine,” he insists, squeezing his thighs against Wataru. “ _Mine,_ and I’m terrible at sharing.”

Without a second thought, Wataru pulls off the bun, tossing it to the side and letting it bounce across the floor, then bends his hands to unbutton Eichi’s shirt. “Then I shan’t make you share me. As long as you want, this Hibiki Wataru is the affliction of only Your Majesty.”

Eichi feels like he should be more fazed by Wataru, even after this long of knowing him. Instead, he just sort of blinks at the flying hairpiece, shrugs, and flops back to let Wataru undress him. “Good! Ugh, I can’t believe I had to lose my temper with you to make my position clear,” he sniffs, hauling a pillow over to more comfortably prop his head up. “Wataru, if you _ever_ make me work this hard again—“

“Then I will gladly accept any punishment,” Wataru assures him, bending to kiss at his cheek, his neck, down to his chest and lower, parting the shirt entirely with a brush of dextrous fingers. “As is always my position towards your supremacy, even here...feel free to edit my behavior.”

And with that, he bends, tugging down the elastic waistband of Eichi’s pants, mouthing at the stiff line of his cock through his underwear.

Whatever nerves Wataru had before are clearly gone, and Eichi can’t think of _anything_ that he would _ever_ want to edit when Wataru’s mouth is against him already. His breath hiccups, and his fingers scrape against Wataru’s scalp as they bury themselves right back into his hair. “If I pass out, don’t you dare stop,” Eichi groans. “I’ll die if you do.”

“Well. We can’t have that.”

Eichi is lovely, strong and lithe under his touch, and Wataru takes every opportunity to touch. He’s incredibly talented at yanking clothes off of even resisting men, and with those who want to keep them on, it’s even easier. It’s hardly a moment before they’re both naked, and honestly, that change of scenery is more of a bolstering to his nerves than any pep talk from a vampire ever could be. He nuzzles at Eichi’s stomach, then leans down above him, reaching down to palm himself slowly, drinking in the sight of Eichi’s body. “You’re everything, everything I could ever want,” he breathes. “Tell me how to worship you.”

Eichi considers himself deserving of fine, beautiful things, but…Wataru almost seems _too_ good, and has for awhile, and this proves it all the more. He swallows hard, unsure of where to touch now that he has it all to his perusal, which is embarrassingly unlike himself. That means he has no choice but to splay his hands against those broad shoulders, his nails digging into the sculpted muscle of Wataru’s back. “I want you,” he murmurs, his eyes darting down to where Wataru touches himself, and his mouth goes dry. “All of you. Are you still worried about going too fast? Because I have _ideas._ ”

“Speed doesn’t frighten me.” It doesn’t _anymore_ , at least, but that isn’t as fun to say. “Just let me know if I’m too much, yes? For you, I’ll listen.” It goes without saying (it’s been highly implied) that for anyone else, this might not be the case. Eichi, though...

Eichi has always been special, to Wataru. He’s a shining light in a sea of gray, enough to tether him to the world when he’d be so close, ever so close to letting the world carry on without him, that long-ago time that was truly quite recently. And now, in gratitude as much as love, he leans in, catching Eichi’s mouth with his, rocking down to let himself rub against Eichi’s hard length, groaning into his mouth. “Appreciated, but unnecessary.”

Wataru is _so_ different than anything he’s experienced before. Girls are one thing, soft and malleable and cutely anxious, boys (like Keito) another, quick to roll over and not look him in eye and certainly not touch first…

But Wataru, Wataru feels like silk over steel above him, and the hard length of his cock dragging against his own makes Eichi pant against Wataru’s mouth for air. Hurriedly, he paws a hand between them, _needing_ to wrap his fingers around them both, shuddering at the slide of skin against skin, slick and hot and making heat curl deep in his belly. “You should put it in me,” he mutters, his eyes bright and eager behind his lashes as his fingers squeeze, stroke upward, and linger around the head of Wataru’s cock, feeling the sticky drip over his fingers.

Wataru nods dumbly, awestruck with the beauty, the glory, the all-encompassing wonder that is Tenshouin Eichi. “All right,” he agrees quickly, and slides down, angling the head of his cock to press at that tight, alluring hole. The idea of where he’s about to be is heady, intoxicating, and he groans under his breath, pressing a hard, sucking kiss to the side of Eichi’s neck as he starts to push.

“ _Wataru_ —slow down and behave yourself,” Eichi snaps, digging the heel of his foot into Wataru’s hip to shove him back and put a stop to him temporarily. A firm hand in his hair, which he uses contently as a leash, is also a fairly good stopgap. “Ugh, _honestly_ , being a woman would be so convenient right now…do you have a condom? I do, but I have no idea where you threw my pants at this point.”

The prickle of excitement grinds to a halt, though Wataru’s body is still singing with eagerness. It takes a moment for Eichi’s words to penetrate that fog, though when they do, he could slap himself. “Ah, my deepest apologies! Of course.”

He snaps his fingers, and an array of condoms pours down from out of nowhere, produced from his sleeves despite his nudity. “Size? Color? Flavor?”

“How do you plan things like this?” Eichi demands on a laugh, though he knows he’ll never get an answer. He plucks up one of the condoms, then another, bemused. “And how often are you planning on doing it to buy this many? Whatever, here, this one already has lube on it, that’s convenient.”

“I rather don’t plan on stopping once we start,” Wataru says frankly, and tears the one Eichi had indicated neatly, though he stops and stares down at himself once he does. “I feel like this is likely intuitive, right? Like this?”

“Ah, come here.” It’s not like he doesn’t need another excuse to touch Wataru’s cock, and stealing the condom out of his fingers to carefully roll it on for him makes Eichi’s breath catch. “I forget I was…perhaps too precocious in this sort of thing,” he admits with a laugh. “Though I’ll be honest, most of my experience is with women…and with men that want to roll onto their backs.” His fingers idly trail upward, tracing lean muscle until Eichi can’t _quite_ resist pinching a nipple. “And then there’s you.”

Wataru squeaks, then crushes Eichi slightly, lying heavily on him when he gets his breath back. “You startled me,” he accuses breathlessly, through a grin. “I’ll have to return the favor.” He grabs for Eichi’s cock, rolling it in his hand the way he likes it himself, watching Eichi’s face for hints of how to proceed, taking careful note of which actions get the best reactions.

“You’re _heavy_ , Wataru,” Eichi ‘complains’, sounding far from displeased about it when Wataru’s hand wraps around his cock, and he can’t catch himself in time to stifle a whimper. “I’m _easy_ , so be good to me,” he groans, scoring his nails against Wataru’s back—gently, this first time, just enough to flex his fingers in and leave little indentations when he arches up into Wataru’s palm. “Put it in me, then you can touch and pet me all you want, otherwise—“ _Otherwise, I’m done for, and that’s not anywhere near as fun._

Wataru nods. Clear instructions are good when he’s being directed--guided, at least--and he lets go, holding Eichi by the thighs, spreading them as he settles in. This feels slicker, easier than the first time, and it’s with a groan of, “ _Eichi_ \--” that he pushes forward slowly, eyes dazzled by the man who has always, to him, been the sun.

Eichi’s nails aren’t so gentle against Wataru’s back during this.

Clawing tracks against Wataru’s spine is a good outlet when it feels like too much, too fast, even if Wataru is taking his time and it’s slick enough to bear this time around. _Still_ —Wataru looks big, _feels_ bigger, and Eichi clings to his back for dear life, burying his face into Wataru’s neck as he sucks in hiccuping draughts of air.

His thighs tremble, splayed open and pliant no matter how having that much _inside_ makes him feel weak and shaky, like he’s about to pass out, a sensation he knows too well. Eichi lets his head flop back, and grabs dizzily for one of Wataru’s hands, shoving it between them again. “Touch me,” he demands, breathless, his gaze unfocused and needy.

“With pleasure,” Wataru groans, only too happy to have something to focus on besides the all-encompassing pleasure that steals every one of his senses. Eichi is tight and hot, squeezing him with every tiny movement, and he feels like he’s gasping for air even if his body would never force him into something so absurd.

_This is it. This is the reason I became human._

The thought is startling and bright in his mind, enough to make him lurch into each kiss and caress, and he strokes firmly, needing to drag Eichi into the precipice of pleasure he’s tumbling towards every second. “You’re--everything,” he breathes, eyes bright and intent.

Somehow, Eichi knows no one will _ever_ be able to best Hibiki Wataru in bed. _What a shame, I’m an instant addict._

Eichi shivers down to his core, the edge of tense, aching pain that comes with being overfull, or more correctly, _overstimulated_ making him flush hot as he tries to relax, more or less fails, but can’t see any reason not to squeeze his thighs around Wataru and rock down into the movements of his hips, into the touch of his hand, the only grounding thing about any of this. “Wataru,” he breathes, his fingers digging into the curve of his rear, kneading and pulling him in with every thrust. “You’re—nn— _perfect_. You can—I—you d-don’t have to be so careful, I promise, I’ll like it—“

“Trying not to finish too fast,” Wataru admits with a breathless little laugh. He rests his forehead against Eichi’s, kissing him soundly before he starts rocking more quickly, chasing that incredible stimulation, that slick tight heaven wrapped around him. It makes him want to last forever, but the closer he gets to that heaven, the more certain he is that he _can’t_ , that he’s going to be too fast and it’ll be over soon, and that fear--

“We...we can do it again after, right?” he asks, urgent as he strokes Eichi’s cock, his own so hard it’s aching even with the splendid friction of Eichi’s body.

Eichi doesn’t really hear him, but he nods anyway, desperately out of breath, clinging to Wataru like he’s a lifeline—which is he, the only thing Eichi wants and needs, especially when everything about him is this slick, hot mix of pleasure and pain that he does _not_ want to see end, ever, _ever._

Mercifully, he spills, gasping as he loses himself over Wataru’s fingers, toes curled into the bed so tightly that his calves ache from the tension that rakes up the backs of his legs. The scratches he leaves on Wataru’s back make Eichi’s own fingers hurt for how tightly he holds on, and Eichi lets his head loll back, gulping in air like a fish out of water, blearily blinking sweat from his eyes, trembling with every twitchy little aftershock that makes him squeeze down harder around Wataru’s cock.

The sudden added squeeze steals Wataru’s breath, and he lets out an embarrassing noise that probably counts as a ‘yelp’ when he loses his mind, tumbling off a cliff with reckless abandon, hips snapping in to bury himself deep again and again, mindless and thoughtless and so wracked with pleasure he feels he’s about to fall apart. He buries his face in Eichi’s shoulder, gasping his release, spurred on by the slick mess in his hand as he ruts a dozen more times, riding out the wave before he finally stills.

“Eichi,” he murmurs, then again, “Eichi, _Eichi_ ,” because it’s such a pleasure to say, a pleasure to be with him.

“You sound so _cute_ when you come,” is Eichi’s breathless, giggly tease as he uselessly pets a hand through Wataru’s hair, which only results in getting his fingers tangled all up in it. “Ahhh. Wataru. You already know you’re perfect, but I’ll…mm. I’ll tell you again anyway.”

“We’re perfect _together_ ,” Wataru agrees, then starts rocking his hips again, nipping at Eichi’s neck, cock hard and flushed once more.

“Ah. Are we? Wataru,” Eichi nervously laughs, giving his hair a first-gentle, then much harder tug. “ _Wataru._ Let me catch my breath, get a drink of water—t-then we can—ah—we can do it again. Also, if that condom breaks in me, I’ll kill you.”

Wataru freezes mid-thrust, suddenly noticing Eichi’s squirming for a different reason than pleasure. Hastily, he pulls out, getting rid of the condom and sitting back on his heels. “Sorry,” he says, chagrined as he pushes the hair back from his face. “You’re just so...perfect, and you look so beautiful, and I love you. Ah, and it never _really_ gets soft unless I want it to, so...”

“What do you mean, it never _really_ gets soft?” Eichi asks in disbelief, trying not to grimace as he shifts, stretching out cramping, wobbly limbs and huh, yes, that does feel _different_ for sure. He wiggles his toes, staring at Wataru through his sweaty bangs. “Wataru, I swear sometimes that you aren’t human.”

“You’d best swear by something more consistent than the moon, my love!” Wataru sing-songs, kicking up his legs in evident glee, willing his erection away with moderate success. “My superhuman qualities are not likely to change. Mm, fair warning for when I fellate you, every time I practiced, my jaw dislocates. Surprising, no?”

“I…yes, that certainly is surprising. I can’t say I’ve ever experienced that before, so I don’t really know what to say? But it’s you, so I’m sure I will enjoy it.” Eichi grabs a handful of Wataru’s hair, toying with it fondly. “Fetch me some water? Then I’m all yours for the taking again.”

Wataru beams, and water pours forth from a fountain near Mercutio’s cage. “Famous last words, Your Royal Majesty.”


End file.
